Bleed
by Astoria02
Summary: Damon is like a knife to Elena's heart. One-shot


Bleed

"What are you doing?" Damon asked. Elena was standing in the kitchen, studying a knife. Damon didn't know knives could be so interesting, which made him think that Elena wasn't finding it interesting either. She wanted to do something with it and Damon knew Elena was way too stressed to think clearly.

Elena, snapping back into reality, sighed and said, "Nothing." But that didn't sound like a nothing to Damon. He stepped closer to her and grabbed the knife from her hand.

"What you did today was crazy," he said, talking about her attempted suicide mission. Elena looked at him and nodded. Her brow was forrowed and he noticed it had been that way for a while. He didn't remember the last time she was happy.

Her hand traveled to her vervain necklace which sat daintily against her skin. Damon tried to ignore the urge to bite right there, knowing that her blood would be the sweetest he'd ever tasted. She walked out of reach and towards the living room. She paused a moment, thinking about something. She couldn't recall what it was but she knew that there was something important that she wasn't remembering.

She turned around and looked at Damon, who hadn't stopped looking at her. He didn't think he was capable at looking at anything else with Elena in the room. "Damon," she said.

Damon cocked his head and wondered what she might be thinking. Every thought in his mind revolved around the three words he had whispered to her that she didn't remember. Ever since that day, Damon had thought he'd regret compelling her to forget. But the more he thought about it, the more he thought it was better this way. Better that Elena wouldn't be confused about her feelings.

Which did not explain the fact that right now she was standing in front of him with a look she'd never seen in her face before. It was somewhere between a calculating look and a thoughtful look. "What?" he said. He'd meant for it to sound like his old self-sarccastic and uninterested-but it hadn't worked.

She hesitated before saying anything. What could she say, anyways? She couldn't put a finger on her own thoughts let alone someone else trying to figure them out. She shook her head. "Nothing. I'm just tired, I better go upstairs."

Damon watched her go. He studied her as she went upstairs. Was is fair? Was it fair that, for the second time, he loved the same woman that his brother loved? He wasn't sure. Who would be sure of something like that? When Damon had arrived at Mystic Falls, all he wanted-all he meant to do-was to make his brother's life miserable. It had worked for a few months but then, look at what happened: he was now Elena's pity party and Stefan's best trustee.

It disgusted him.

He needed to go out, he decided. He needed to clear his mind of whatever it was clogging it up with stupid and uncharacteristic thoughts. What he needed, he realized, was to feed. And not just cute little Bambis in the Mystic Fall's woods, but real savory human beings. The thought was making his mouth water.

Before he went out, he made sure Elena was safely in her room. Neither she nor Stefan had to find out what he was going to do. He was a hundred plus old man, he didn't need his little brother or his girlfriend telling him what to do.

He located a strip club just outside of Mystic Falls. Yeah, he thought, that would keep them off my trails. Plus, here he could find all the satisfaction he needed. He compelled the security up front to let him come in. Then, he went inside, took a few drinks, and sat down to watch the show.

But Damon hadn't expected that these beautiful-albeit easy-girls dancing around in nothing but a few strings of clothes would interest him even less than a stupid knife. He shrugged to himself. He was hungry and there wasn't anything better to do.

"Hello," said a platinum-blond with breasts that seemed to take up most of her chest. They were covered in sparkling starts only in the most necessary place.

"Well, hello there," he said, using his smoldering looks. Although he suspected those wouldn't be needed since this girl had approached him like a bee to nectar.

"I haven't seen you around here before," she purred. Disgusting. Damon resolved to make this quick an easy.

"I haven't been here before. What would be your name, love?"

She batted her eyelashes and moved even closer to him. "You won't be needing that, will you?" she said.

"Not at all," Damon answered. Suddenly, Damon realized how hard he was trying to be the old isn't me, he said to himself, at least not anymore.

"Would you like to play a little game?" the girl said, whipping out some feathers.

For the first time in a long time, Damon couldn't think of anything to say. "Um," he managed. The girl smiled and ran a feather down his cheek.

"What's wrong? Cat's got your tongue?" she giggled.

"Ha," he said. "No, actually. I have to go." He didn't know why he was giving explanations to this girl. He took out a few bills from his pocket and threw it to her in her general direction.

"But-" she said, clearly offended.

"I think that dude over there," Damon said, pointing to a rather fat guy licking some girl's hand, "Would do something with you."

Damon walked-or whatever it was that he did-out of there faster than you could say hello.

Obviously, he knew why he'd done it. Elena had consumed his every nerve and for a second he thought he'd been losing himself. But being there in that stinking hole of girls with no dignity made him realize that he simply wasn't that person anymore.

He hated to admit it, but Elena had changed him. And he realized something else, too. That this couldn't stay like it is-he needed to know how Elena felt about him.

Elena couldn't sleep. All she could do was toss and turn and think about what she was missing. That hole in her mind that was eating at her. She knew that she was feeling different, so she knew that whoever-she was almost sure it had been Damon-had compelled her, had also changed how she felt about certain things.

Namely Damon.

She gave a small jump in her bed when a figure appeared on the other end. She could tell by the silouhette that it was Damon. She turned on one of her bedside table lamps and looked at him.

He looked pained, his lips sealed shut as if trying to help something from excaping his mouth. "Damon, what-" she said but he held up a hand.

"Don't talk," he said. It did not sound demanding but she stopped saying whatever she was about to say. "I need you to answer one question," he said. His eyes didn't meet hers. They were concentrating on his foot. Elena couldn't make out what this was all about. Why would he be in her room in the middle of the night? It must be important. Heck, it better be important because he surely gave her a fright by just appearing in her bedroom.

"Okay, Damon. But tell me what's-" He held up his hand again and she automatically stopped talking. She caught her breath when he moved closer. So close, in fact, that she could feel his breathing. One inch closer and she could feel his body against hers.

"How do you feel-" he started, "-when you look at me?" She had never heard such an odd question.

"How does it feel when-wait, what? Damon, you're not making any sense. Just tell me what's wrong." But he didn't say anything, at least not right away. He closed the space between them so that they were chest to chest. He put his arms on her shoulders and tightened his grip. She didn't flinch even though it sort of hurt, because at that moment, he raised his eyes to hers and she didn't think it would be possible to even move.

"I asked you, Elena, how does it feel when you look at me?" he didn't waver his eyes from her and she looked at him with the same intensity.

In that moment, she knew. She knew what she was feeling. It was as if her thoughts, tangled and messy had organized themselves. But it was not in her thoughts that she knew, for she had an empty space in her memory, but in her heart. And she knew she had to be sincere.

Her heart beat rapidly and she was aware that he felt it against his chest. She was more aware of the fact that every second she spent not answering his question, his grip loosened. She closed her eyes. This was a risk, she thought, a risk she didn't want to take. But after all this-she had to know what's real. She had to know if whatever she was feeling was real and not part of a love story she had fantasized about.

"When I look at you, Damon, I feel like my heart is being stabbed by a knife...over and over again. And it's painful, but I welcome every time the sharp blade makes contact again. And I don't care if I bleed to death, or if everyone around me dies...all that care about in that moment when your eyes meet mine is that it's your knife piercing my heart and no one else's."


End file.
